


Spireplatz

by grains_of_sand



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: AU-Medieval, M/M, ambient weird, everything is science, tags to be added as they become relevant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 16:57:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10723443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grains_of_sand/pseuds/grains_of_sand
Summary: Carlos comes to the hamlet of Night Vale to investiagate the disappearance of a coleague but is drawn into the mystery and charm of the vilage enough to love it, and maybe enough to let it love him in return.





	Spireplatz

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea awhile back and wrote the prologue on my phone. I found what I had wrote recently and thought it was worth continuing.

if you came into the Vale from the mountains, as Carlos had, you would come to the tower first. It was immense, a smooth black obelisk with flecks of red. It jutted towards the sky like a spear seeming to pierce the storm clouds steadily pelting him with cold sleet from within his travelling lab coat. It was the first building he had seen in days and he knew that it would be a few miles yet to the nearest village, so he bled on the doors slightly until they opened and trudged inside carrying his pack. 

"Hello?" he rasped. His voice coming back from the empty walls to hit him like a slap in the face, as if to remind him that he was not human. He coughed and tried again: "Hello?" this time it came out smoother and less feral, but the tower refused to answer. It was late, and Carlos was tired. He called out one last time before trying to find a place to sleep.

The tower was in no short supply of bedrooms. the stairs wound around the outside of the tower with occasional windows on the outer walk to the left providing light from the outside and doors to the right leading to increasingly luxurious suites. The first floor's room had held some kind of army barracks. the second had had accommodations for the family of a village mayor. the third had housed a hay mattress. the fourth a bed with simple wooden posts and a soft quilt. By the twentieth floor the beds were made of polished wood inlaid with ivory and stones or china with intricate paintings of children playing with animals in the woods. The mattresses were made of the first down of baby birds and piled three high. The covers were warm and richly coloured. Carlos pressed on, though. he knew that the next room would be the best despite the blood loss from opening so many doors and the faded and judgemental wall tapestries telling him to just choose a room already. 

He opened the door and immediately healed his hand with a scientific incantation. The room was perfect. It was packed from floor to ceiling with treasure that almost threatened to fall on a simple bed at its centre. Surrounded by treasure, Carlos felt a sense of ease that he knew he would not otherwise have found. he dropped his pack and shucked his travelling clothes, taking care to drape his lab coat over a pile of treasure so that it would be dry by morning, cozied himself under the covers and went to sleep.

As he slept, the voice from the tower spoke to him…


End file.
